


Call My Name And Save Me

by jen_chan13



Series: author never finishes anything ever [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, F/M, M/M, Swearing, so basically par for the course in Marvel fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:02:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jen_chan13/pseuds/jen_chan13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Phil recruited Clint Barton, and Clint recruited Natalia Romanova.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings are all implied or off-screen or UST. Sorry.
> 
> Also, standard disclaimers apply: not mine, not making money off of this, etc ad nauseum. If you see something you recognize then it probably belongs to someone else.

"Chandler, Murphy, up the fire escape," Phil orders quietly over comms, scanning the scene. "Nguyen, eyes on the target. Graze only, no kill shots."

"Doing my best, sir, but he's staying out of all the best sight lines," Nguyen replies promptly in a frustrated tone. Phil isn't surprised - the target's record as a marksman is epic, he'd know better than to leave himself open like that.

"I'm hopeful," Phil says, "just keep looking." Then he takes the megaphone from the tac-van and steps out into the street.

"Mr. Barton," he says calmly into the megaphone. "We'd like to stop chasing you now."

"Does that mean I can go soon?" The target calls down from his perch, wedged between a dormer window and a parapet on the roof of a three-story city government building. "It's getting kinda chilly up here!"

"Unfortunately we can't let you leave freely either," Phil replies, unable to stop the twitch of his cheek. He's not used to getting snark from anyone but Nick. The junior agents in the office are too terrified to try it, and the field agents are trained out of that kind of thing during ops. One unfortunate side-effect of working with SHIELD is an unshakeable sense of gravitas that permeates all their missions. Special Forces was much more entertaining.

"This would be easier for everyone if you'd just come down and surrender to us peacefully," Phil calls up to the target.

"As much as I deserve a bullet to the brain, I don't think I'll sit still and let you put it there, thanks all the same!"

Phil's brow furrows. He wasn't expecting that.

He lowers the megaphone and turns to the open doors of the tactical van, catching Simmons' eye. "Double-check our intel and our orders concerning the target," he orders softly. "Is there anything from HQ we missed?"

Phil turns back to the building, in time to see dark shapes moving further down the roof. He taps his earpiece. "Nguyen, do you have a sight line?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Keep me informed. Murphy, Chandler, don't spook him."

Clearly Phil is cursed, because just seconds later, the target pops up from his hiding place for a moment, his movement difficult to make out clearly in the dark. In the span of time it takes for Phil to suck in a breath, a shot rings out, but the target is already huddled back in his hiding place, leaving Nguyen and Chandler both cursing in his ear.

"What just happened?" Phil demands quietly into comms.

"Ha!" The target's gleeful yell interrupts him. "You really suck at this, man! I've had girlfriends better at sneaking up on me than you guys!"

"He threw a fucking _knife_ at my _head_ ," Chandler hisses. "That fucker!"

"Too fast for me, sir," Nguyen apologizes. "Totally missed him." Which in this case means the shot was a few seconds to slow, or a few feet off-target - but it amounts to the same thing.

Simmons taps his shoulder and, when he has Phil's attention, shakes his head and mouths 'nothing' with a shrug of his shoulders.

Phil contemplates the situation for a moment, and then raises the megaphone again.

"Mr. Barton, I don't have a particular need to put a bullet anywhere in your body, but we can do this all night if necessary." He thinks for a moment, then allows himself a tiny smirk. "I'd much prefer having a civil conversation with less distance between us, and more hot coffee. I promise to have you home by midnight."

There's a cautious pause. "I don't trust military promises anymore!"

"We're not under the control of any normal military command structure," Phil replies through the megaphone, one eyebrow creeping up his forehead at the comment. "And I'm proposing a much more... specialised relationship."

"I like mercs even less than the military!" is his only response.

"We're not mercenaries either," Phil replies, thinking fast. The target is an ex-military mercenary who apparently thinks he deserves to be killed; clearly there are issues here that their intel has only hinted at.

There's a long pause from the target. "Are you just yanking my chain, man?"

"My boss's name is Nick," Phil says absently, still thinking. The paperwork's going to be a bitch; but then, Phil can make anything look good on paper. Phil rules SHIELD HQ with paperwork. "He wears an eyepatch. He used to be a Colonel. Ever heard of a sideways promotion?"

There's an even longer silence. While he waits, Phil contemplates just how much shit Nick's going to give him for this.

"How much hot coffee, exactly?" Barton calls down from the roof, sounding resigned and slightly curious.

"As much as you want."

Phil's going to get so much shit for this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's skip a few months ahead, shall we?
> 
> Also: this is not the Natasha we see in the MCU movies - this is Natasha not quite half-way out of the Red Room's brainwashing, with no idea which way is up or which of her memories she can trust. She needs time to level out, just like Clint did after Loki's hold was broken.

 

"Tasha?" Clint says tentatively, still hanging off his line about eight feet up.  She could still reach him if she wanted to - if it's really her - but he's not getting in her incredibly huge personal space bubble if he can help it.  Not yet.  She'll perceive his high position as a threat, but it's better than getting close.

When he says her name, the nickname he gave her two years ago, she tenses, her body coiled tight and ready to spring into action.  She's still a few yards away from him, closer to the mouth of the alley, where the light will make it hard for her to adjust to the shadows, but he can tell the second her eyes pinpoint his location.

"Natalia?  _Is that you?_ " Clint asks softly, in his frankly terrible Russian.  He can hear Phil giving hushed orders in his ear, listening to every word he's saying to their target, but the ground team is still for now.

"Clint?"  Her voice is small, unsure, and he'd swear he can hear a faint tremor when she says his name.  Her eyes are darting back and forth between him and the busy street at the mouth of the alley, but Clint knows from his comm that the team is holding back, on Phil's orders, waiting.

"Yeah, it's me," Clint affirms, slowly dropping himself the rest of the way down to the ground.  He lets go of the rope and puts his hands out wide where she can see them, see that he's not holding a weapon in either one.  She can probably see the guns at his hip and shoulder, the bow on his back, and she knows him well enough to know he has half a dozen knives in his clothes.  But he hasn't drawn any of them, and he lets his body language tell her that he isn't planning on it.

Natasha doesn't say another word, just watches him, and he takes a tentative step forward.  Now that he's closer he can see that she's shivering every so often - shaking.  Clint's heart, light and tight with hope and joy just moments before, feels suddenly heavy.

"Tasha, are you... how much of you is you right now?"

Her breathing picks up, her shudders timed to every shaky exhalation.  "About forty percent.  They told me they'd killed you."

"Oh no, sweetheart, I'm fine."  Clint makes his tone a promise.  He risks taking another half-step forward.  "I'm here.  I'm gonna - are you gonna be okay if I come closer?"

"No," she says plainly, still fighting to keep her breathing even, largely failing.  "You're still armed, I might hurt you."

"Okay, I'll stay here."  Phil is talking about tranq guns in his ear; Clint ignores him.  He keeps his hands spread far away from his body.

"What happened?"  Natasha asks him, clearly trying to get a grip on what's real and what's not.

"You disappeared off my scope; when you wouldn't answer my calls on the radio I went to find you, and ended up barely getting out before the building came down around my ears.  By the time things had settled there was no sign of you anywhere."  He takes a deep breath.  "I never found out what happened to you."

"I got pulled back in," Natasha says, unnecessarily.  She cracks a weak laugh.  "I guess you know that now."

"Hey, we've been here before, right?" Clint tries to soothe her.  She's breaking herself out again - at forty percent, that process started at least a couple of weeks ago - but she's still a danger to him and herself and anyone stupid enough to get too close to her looking remotely threatening.  Clint tries to be as non-threatening as possible.  "You can do this.  You know nothing they tell you is true.  Come on, let's play a game, huh?"

"Okay," Natasha says firmly, bravely.  "I killed Ershova."

"True," Clint says softly, without hesitation.

"She was a threat."

"Not true – except to them."

"Okay," Natasha says again.  Her voice is a little steadier now.  "You're alive."

"True".  He can't help but smile at her, a pleased grin.

She sees the look on his face and startles, like she wasn't expecting it.  "You..."

"Also true, still.  Always," Clint assures her softly.  His smile turns tender for a moment, but he can tell the realisation is difficult for Natasha so he tries to wipe his face clean of any emotion, to stay professional and calm so that she can as well.

Phil talks quietly in his ear, and Clint spares a portion of his attention to listen.  Natasha notices, of course, and he cocks his head to the side to show her the shine of the earbud clinging there.

"You're part of the team that flushed me out."

Clint doesn't bother trying to deny it.  He shrugs slightly.  "Also true.  Didn't know it was you, intel just said at least one operative, possible back-up."

"Who?"  Natasha asks, and then, "Who are you...?"

"They're called SHIELD," Clint says, and then notices his choice of pronouns there, and sees Natasha noticing it too.  "They're an international paramilitary black ops group, working the dark side of humanitarian aide."  He remembers his first days, all the thoughts he'd wished he could share with her.  "They're based in New York City," he says, knowing (hoping) she'll remember.

When he sees her smile he knows she does.  "What's it like?"  Natasha asks, delicately.  She's still nervous - the time spent standing in the alley, time wasted, is probably only making it worse.  Nonetheless, Clint answers her question.

"Just like we imagined.  Better, sometimes."  He gives a genuine smile, lets her see how happy that makes him, and it helps a little - calms her down.

Phil is talking in his ear again, but this time he's talking to Clint directly, and Clint turns his head to the side, listening, holding Natasha's gaze and letting her see the earbud again so she knows what he's doing.

"Agent Barton," Phil says smoothly over the comm, "I'm going to walk to your location.  Please keep the target calm and settled; we don't want her to bolt."  Clint hears the word 'target' and his chest seizes with sudden panic.

"Sir, I recommend we do not engage per our primary mission objective at this time," Clint says, fast.  He's a bit surprised with himself at the amount of SHIELD lingo that just fell out of his mouth, but he knows that the entire operation's comm traffic is recorded - that's standard procedure.  Across from him, tension is rising in Natasha's body, every muscle preparing to fight or flee.  He cannot fuck this up.

"I agree with you, Agent, which is why I'm coming to your position," Phil replies, smooth and guileless, and Clint really, _really_ wants to believe him.  "Keep the target calm."

Clint feels like he should respond to that, but no words come.  He keeps his eyes holding Natasha's, her body starting to shake again from adrenaline and danger.

"Tasha," Clint finally speaks.  "My handler's coming over.  He's the only guy in the place who's not a total dickhead; please don't break him."

Natasha manages a strangled noise that might have been a laugh if it weren't so wretched.  "I'll try."

 

~

 

Natalia is not quite sure what to think of Agent Coulson.  He seems to be many different people, and she knows what it feels like to put on so many different masks - she knows better than to trust what she sees in his face.

At first she makes her judgment based on Clint's interaction with the man.  Clint had said 'my handler is coming' and he then asked her not to kill him, and the way he said that made it clear this man was important to her lost lover.  More telling is the way Clint turns his back to Coulson without thought, unprotected and unconcerned, and the way Clint's eyes find and follow the other man whenever they're within sight of each other.  Clint is a complainer, a noise-maker, but when they are finally at SHIELD HQ, when the debrief is done and she’s released into the Coulson’s custody, Clint sits quietly in the other man's office, filling out forms on the floor or the couch by the window, silent and almost content, his inherent restlessness almost tamed.  Once she sees Clint sleeping on that couch, and Clint stayed asleep until Coulson touched his shoulder.  That speaks of trust not easily earned from her once-lover.

Clint defers to Coulson, calls him "sir" and "boss" and follows his commands.  Sometimes this agreement is accompanied by a smirk or a complaint or a sarcastic remark, but rarely does Clint question Coulson's decision.  This is new behavior for the archer, at least in Natalia's experience.  (Indicative, also, is how Coulson considers Clint's input when he does raise objections to his orders.  Natalia has never, _never_ had a handler do that for her.)

When Natalia first saw Agent Coulon in his suit, when she surrendered herself to the agent's custody, she expected him to be a simple office man, flabby and weak behind the influence of his desk.  This is not so.  In the alley he came to her with care, his arms out-stretched to reveal the gun holster under his suit jacket, the knife and the taser at his belt.  His hands were gentle but firm when he cuffed her wrists, and she felt the calluses on his skin from both guns and pens.

After two days in the care of SHIELD, Natalia learns what it means to be one of their handlers, especially one like Agent Coulson.  Handlers are active senior agents.  In SHIELD, this means Coulson excelled at being a junior agent in the office, and then survived as a field agent for many years, and that he is still field-capable but is now trusted to lead others on their missions instead of being led.  He is not just a desk man.

After three days, Agent Coulson starts talking to her directly, and Natalia finds herself talking back.  He speaks to her in her own tongue, with the fluency of a native, and she decides not to suppress the urge to respond in kind.  He is also a good listener - he sits quietly while she talks, his eyes on her, and when she finds herself without words he asks her quiet questions, prompting her to go on.

Like Natalia herself, Coulson has many faces.  The first she saw was a professional face, the face of an active senior agent, in command of a field team, efficiently absorbing information, making decisions and giving out orders.  The second was an office face, reporting to the one-eyed man named Fury, bland and blank and so full of nothing it made her nervous to watch it and read nothing from him - the face she wears most often herself.  The third face was that of a teacher, when Natalia saw him talking to a junior agent on the range, stopping on his way to take her to lunch.  The fourth face is for her, listening as she talks to him, quiet and thoughtful, attentive, considerate... friendly.

The fifth face is a lonely face.  She sees it when he looks at Clint, when he thinks no one else is watching.

 

~

 

Barton and Romanova start having sex about two weeks after they bring her in.

Phil isn't the kind of guy to lie to himself - he knows he saw this coming when he heard Barton's voice rumbling the word ' _sweetheart_ ' over the comm in that alley. 

Phil has been paying close attention to Romanova's situation.  Her file is updated every day - medical check-ups, psych visits (after her initial visit, the head psychiatrist had recommended daily visits; Romanova had countered, saying she should probably be checked over at least twice each day, and Dr. Tomlin hadn't argued), and her fitness records on the range and in the gym.  Phil reads every update.

Phil also has lunch with her, most days.  He goes to the range at one o'clock and signs her into his custody, and they walk together to the base cafeteria in perfect, unbroken silence.  Romanova doesn't say a word except to get her food, and they sit at a table close to the door to the fire stairs and eat together quietly.  For the first two days, they finish their meal in total silence and he walks her to her afternoon psych eval afterward.

On the third day of this, Phil finishes the last of his broccoli and sets down his fork.  He looks at Romanova, and she looks back, unfazed.

" _Would you care to tell me how you first met Agent Barton?_ "  Phil asks, in perfect academic Russian, remembering Barton's one broken sentence on the comm three nights ago.

Romanova looks at him for a long minute.

" _When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina_ ," she tells him.  Phil listens while she talks, telling stories of days long past.  He asks the occasional question, prompting her to go on, and she seems to appreciate the chance to speak her first language to someone who can listen.  She never says anything… emotional, about the people that trained her, or the work she once did for them and the ways she escaped them, but from their conversations Phil is starting to paint a picture in his mind.

Barton tells him more, though rarely with words.  The way Barton had asked her _'how much of you is you?'_ , the way he acts around her now, like she's brittle steel, tempered too long and too hard... those things tell their own stories.  He sees history in the way they move around each other, cautious but familiar.  Phil is good at collating data, putting facts together, ferreting out what he needs to know and fitting together a situation.  He reads this one easily.

He never writes down anything he learns in those conversations.  Her official debrief was thorough, and she gave them every fact she could.  This is something else.  When he sees Barton's fingertips brushing butterfly-soft on Romanova's back, when she rests her head for a moment on his shoulder, her eyes closed in exhaustion, Phil draws his own conclusions, but they don't go in his reports.

Partly, he trusts them to be professional, even with this.  He and Barton have their own history, and Phil knows enough about Barton's past and his motivations to know that the sniper won't let anything interfere with his work.  Romanova he's still learning, but he respects the delicate strength of her, and the way her face can get just as bland as Phil's most-vacant non-expression.  She's a professional, and he hopes she'll remain that way even as they unbury her from an entire lifetime of brainwashing and psychosis.

His other reason for not reporting them is more personal.  Phil doesn't often let himself think about all the late nights he and Clint have spent together in his office, in the living room of his apartment off-base, in restaurants and parks, in a safe house during a mission.  There'd been promise there - Phil had seen something in Clint's eyes, felt the tentative brush of a warm hand on his shoulder - but Phil sees the way the other man is with Romanova, and he's not getting in the way of that.  There's history there, old feelings rekindled in the way the two of them orbit each other, and Phil likes the way Clint looks when Romanova can manage a smile or a laugh.  Clint has enough darkness in his past; having Romanova here seems to help.  Phil's not going to split them up.

He keeps his own longing and daydreams to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive the borrow from Hunger Games - it fit so well! :D


End file.
